Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight
by wellversedinconverse
Summary: Ten years after leaving Mystic Falls, Damon finds an unexpected visitor hell-bent on spending the holidays with him. Post 3x22 Future!Fic. This is part of the DE A2A exchange at tvdmixing and a response to SweetWillowTree's prompt. One-shot.


**A/N: This is part of the author to author exchange at tvdmixing and a response to SweetWillowTree's prompt: **_**True to his word, Damon leaves MF without a word to anyone. Years later, Elena has slowly realized that she can't continue to live without Damon, and tracks him down, just in time for the holidays. Christmas or New Years - Your choice. Rated M for sure. Extra points for a hesitant Damon, and a seductive Elena**_

**So sorry for the late submission, AGAIN! Also sorry for any grammatical mistakes etc. **

**Feel free to review though lol xD**

* * *

Ten years for a vampire _shouldn't_ have felt this long. It shouldn't have felt like going through the motions for ten years, five months, and three or so days (not that Damon was counting. Not really). That would be ridiculous, with a side of fucked up, because he _should_ have gotten over whatever little thing (little thing like letting go of the girl he loved so that she could stay and have her happily ever after with his brother instead) that happened a decade ago.

He blamed it on the damn holidays, filling everyone's heads with romantic notions of _giving_ and spending time with the people they loved, which, at this point, lead him to spend this particular night in his empty, albeit luxurious apartment, as he channel surfed, regrettably landing on some insipid British ensemble comedy (more like Love Actually _Blows_).

Suddenly the glass of bourbon in his hand didn't taste quite strong enough, and he just about had it after the scene where some guy professed his love to a married Keira Knightley through cardboard signs, because one: _idiot_, and two: no way would the guy have gotten a kiss instead of a slap for complicating a new fucking_ marriage_ involving his best friend.

No realism whatsoever.

Damon had to leave his apartment before his sacred manhood had the chance to magically transform into a vagina if he spent another minute watching. He had to go to a bar, _any_ bar, find a girl to fuck until he blacked out, so he could forget that it was another Christmas (his favourite holiday) that wasn't spent with _her_.

* * *

It didn't take longer than five minutes for a pair of firm breasts (sometimes it paid to be an eternal stud) to brush against his leather-clad arm, as he took a swig of his first drink. Smirk already in place, he turned to greet the woman so eager to sample the Damon Salvatore candy cane collection.

Damon did not, however, expect the owner of the pair of wonderful breasts to be the very same cause of his holiday woes. In fact, it was so unexpected that he managed to squeeze the glass in his hand hard enough to make it shatter, earning filthy looks from the bartender and tinkling bouts of laughter from the one and only, Elena Gilbert.

Was this some kind of sick joke? He was_ so_ not in the mood for getting _A Christmas Carol_-ed tonight. Why the fuck couldn't the universe just leave him in peace?

What in the world did he do to deserve this?

He didn't even notice the shards of glass that had sliced into his skin, or the pairs of eyes that were glued onto the scene before them because of the sudden ruckus that he caused. All he could do was stare blankly at the impossibly corporeal form of Elena Gilbert, in all her leggy glory.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

"And Merry Christmas to you too, Damon," Elena snapped in mock annoyance.

Oh shit, he said that out loud.

He sat up straighter and cleared his throat in a feeble attempt to gather his jaw up from the floor, feigning composure.

"And I'll repeat: What the _fuck?_"

Elena shook her head amusedly, plump lips forming a smirk. She leaned in closer, causing his eyes to wander down to the plunging neckline of her red dress (how very _festive_). It was strange, she was still physically 18 years old, but the way she held herself now – well – it made him feel like she was already taking the reigns and riding his sleigh into oblivion.

"I've never been able to sneak up on you before, that's a first," she mused, ignoring his question and placing her hand on his leg instead.

A surge of anger (and, okay, maybe a little bit of arousal) shot through him. How dare she have the nerve to just drop into his life after a decade to seduce him? After the irreparable damage that she'd done to his heart?

And as much as his nether regions were screaming for him to abort mission, he decided that Elena had another thing coming (and it sure as hell wasn't him.)

"Well, I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself," he replied dryly, standing up from his seat and out of her grasp.

"_Damon_," she groaned in exasperation.

"Goodnight, Elena," he bid and he was out of the bar before she could utter another word from her pretty little mouth.

* * *

If he could kick himself in the place where his balls should have been, then he gladly would. Repeatedly.

He was never one to run, never one to turn into a scared little boy, but this was Elena Gilbert. Elena freaking Gilbert. That reason alone warranted a mini freak out, even if it was from Damon Salvatore, big bad vampire extraordinaire.

He just needed a breather. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts in the comfort of his own home. He'd speak to her properly the next day, rebuff her advances if needed (but who was he kidding, really?) and get to the bottom of this sudden Christmas wish gone awry. He just needed one night to himself.

But, as always, the universe had another thing in mind once he stepped into his apartment and toward his bedroom.

There, he found the woman of his dreams, sprawled out onto his king sized bed, in nothing but her lacy red panties (matching her dress from earlier) and one of his unbuttoned shirts.

He gulped, his eyes glued to the way his shirt parted on her, revealing the curve of her breasts as she sat up from her position. She smiled sweetly with her hair mussed, making him itch to run his fingers through the chocolate brown strands to untangle them.

"We don't have to talk if you don't want to," she said huskily as she spread her legs so wide, he was sure an inch further and she'd be doing the splits.

He was lucky that he was already undead, because the sight before him would have surely finished him off.

There she was, literally offering herself up on a silver platter, after all these years; something all of his dreams and fantasies couldn't have conjured up. But to take her like that, given their history, and everything they've been through, it felt all kinds of wrong. He had to make sure that vampirism hadn't turned her bored and fickle. If one night or several was all she wanted, just to get taste of him, to get him out of her system, then she had to make it clear. He would do it (of course he would) if it would make her happy, but he needed to prepare himself to have it all stripped away. She needed to give him at least that.

"What about Stefan?" he asked, the steel in his voice coming back to him, as he vampire-sped to the edge of the bed, making her breasts bounce. He knelt on the bed, in between her legs, never taking his burning gaze off hers.

"I haven't worried about him for years," she said breathlessly, which gave him some slight satisfaction.

His brother was out of the picture at least.

He took her chin in between his thumb and forefinger, and leaned in as if to kiss her. As she closed her eyes in anticipation, he decided to change course, trailing a finger from her neck down to the valley between her breasts, and further until it stopped at the front of her lace covered sex. He hooked his finger onto the soaking wet material, making sure not to touch her and uttered five words in her ear.

"I'll sleep on the couch."

She shrieked in frustration as he vampire-sped out of the room, chortling with laughter.

Who said he couldn't have some fun with his fucked up situation?

No longer than ten minutes later, she made sure that his fun was short-lived, by torturously making crude moans reverberate throughout the apartment.

Of course.

The moaning was soon followed by a series of _Oh_ Damon's and Don't stops that guaranteed an uncomfortable amount of throbbing in his pants.

"Not cool, Elena!" he shouted childishly from his place on the couch.

"You could always join me!" she taunted.

Instead, he unzipped his pants and wrapped his hand around his _south_ pole.

* * *

The next morning, he woke up to the smell of pancakes and slightly burnt bacon (surprisingly just the way he liked. How Elena knew that fact, though, was a mystery).

He slowly made his way toward the kitchen, curious as to what else he would find.

She had her back facing him, as she stood at the stove, the curve of her ass barely covered in his shirt. The sight did little to quell his hunger.

"You cook now?" he commented as nonchalantly as he could, leaning his hands on the island bench behind her.

"_Yes!_ And no wise cracks. I don't care if you like it or not, you're still going to eat it," she shot back.

"Bossy as ever, I see," he quipped, consequently earning a piece of bacon to attack him at lightning speed.

"I said no wise cracks!" she said through gritted teeth, pointing the spatula in her hand at him threateningly.

He laughed and put his hands up in surrender, "As you wish."

The smile slipped off his face, as he remembered why he was so frustrated last night, and no, it wasn't _just_ because he heard her pleasuring herself like a sex starved animal whilst moaning his name.

"Can you at least answer me this, Elena? What are you doing here?" he blurted out.

"Well, I was hungry and you were still asleep so – "

"No, I mean, what are you _doing_ here?" he cut her off, crossing his arms as she faced him, a myriad of emotions flitting through her face.

"I just wanted to spend Christmas with you," she said meekly, a flash of hurt in her eyes.

"Why now? Why after ten years? Do you understand how hard it is for me to wrap my head around this?" he sighed in aggravation.

"I've been looking for you for half that time, Damon! You just up and left! With no word, no nothing! So I waited a few years, thinking that you would come back eventually. But you didn't. You promised that you'd never leave me but that's exactly what you did, Damon," she explained, as her eyes started to glisten.

"Kind of hard to stay when there was no use for me anymore, no danger to fend off, no Originals, what else was I supposed to do, Elena? For fuck's sake! Back then, your Stefan-sized safety blanket was more than enough for you!" he bit back, suddenly losing his appetite in the process.

"I was so young, Damon. I was young and scared and I needed familiarity. I know they're stupid excuses and I'm sorry for what I did, I just… I didn't know much, okay? But now…now I do," she said softly.

He gave a slight nod, averting his gaze from her doe-eyed stare that, without fail, had always turned him into a puddle of mush.

"Where else have you been, then?" he asked brusquely in an attempt to change the subject. Things weren't supposed to get so heavy so early in the morning. Plus the pancakes were starting to burn more than the bacon.

"Italy, actually," she replied, turning around to tend to their breakfast once more.

"And what did you find there?"

"The most amazing food that I've ever tasted, men and women who ended up falling in and out of love with me, and an empty villa owned by a certain Darren Saltz."

"How did you…?" he trailed off, completely and utterly impressed with her investigative skills.

"Were you and Ric planning to get married in Italy under dumb aliases or something?"

* * *

Turned out that Elena had become quite well travelled over the past decade. After her brief stint in Italy, she continued her journey throughout Europe, even bumping into Katherine Pierce at a club in Bulgaria, of all places.

"Ugh, why didn't you just stake her?" Damon groaned, barely audible as he was practically buried in red and gold tinsel. Elena had insisted on decorating Damon's minimalist apartment, so he reluctantly agreed to stop at Macy's (just to shut her up, really).

"She was surprisingly fun, plus, she also found it hilarious that everyone had mistaken us for twin Bulgarian models, can you believe that?" Elena giggled, "Oh my god, Damon, I don't know why you don't even have a wreath! Or mistletoe! Christmas isn't complete without mistletoe!"

"I don't really need a bunch of leaves to make women want to kiss me, Elena."

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his free arm, dragging him to the next over crowded aisle, which was filled with more wreaths, holly and mistletoe than was necessary, in his honest opinion.

As they stopped to grab a handful of holly on the left shelf, she stood on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, "I didn't just travel, I wrote a book too, you know."

"Did you?" he feigned mild curiosity, because of course he knew. He had the first edition hardback on his shelf at home.

"Don't you dare laugh, but it's a vampire romance. The publishers have no idea that it's mostly autobiographical, of course."

"Huh," was all he said, as he enjoyed the way her face scrunched up at his lack of reaction.

"I'm going to make sure that you read it!"

"Sure, whatever, Elena. Make sure you get me a signed copy too," he replied.

"Come to a signing in a few months, and I'll see what I can do. That's only if you haven't been escorted out already for being an ass."

* * *

"What the hell is that?" Elena asked on the eve of Christmas.

He looked up from his reading material and replied with, "Mystic by Miranda Fleming, it's a must read, I have to say."

He smiled toothily at her, making her fume with anger even more.

"You said you never read it! God, I knew you were lying!" she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"I liked the ending and how she dropped both of the bastards that ruined her life. Nice touch."

"She didn't _drop_ them. And they didn't ruin her life. _Daniel_ did the total opposite," Elena explained quietly, as she sat next to him on the leather couch.

"And what did _Daniel_ do exactly?" he prodded, interested in the new insight on _"_Emily" (the protagonist of the book) and her feelings.

"He taught her to understand that she was worth more than she knew. He taught her to live life, even in the worst state. And that's what she wanted to do at the end. She set out to find herself first," she said, looking up to gauge his expression, which he knew would have resembled the stunned one he wore on that first night that he saw her at the bar.

"And did she? Did 'Emily' find herself?" he asked, his throat becoming dry.

"She did. She travelled the world, she became a writer. She did everything she wanted."

"Well, thanks for spoiling the sequel for me," he couldn't help but joke, and she let out a musical laugh that he wouldn't have minded listening to forever. God, he really did miss her.

As her laughter died, she reached between them to place her hand on his, her fingers curling around with her thumb caressing his skin. He felt a rush of heat flow through him, something he hadn't experienced in a decade.

"But Damon, listen. I don't need to continue trying to find myself anymore. I already have. And it's here with you," she said softly, her eyes holding a light more beautiful than any Christmas ornament.

"Are you… are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ten years ago, we kept talking about choices, but I never really had one. The only choices that I had was either to fool myself or to face the truth. I chose the former. But it was always you, Damon. No one else. I know that now."

She reached up to hold the side of his face, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry or dance naked in the streets during the Christmas parade that was happening at that moment.

"I'd very much like to be inside you right now," was all he could say, making her break out into a huge grin, whilst climbing onto his lap.

"I thought you'd never ask, Damon Salvatore," she sighed contentedly.

He reached underneath her floral dress only to find her shapely bare ass.

"No panties?" he asked, although he shouldn't have been shocked.

"Merry Christmas, Damon!" she squealed as he reached around to the front to brush against her wet folds. She took his hands away, only to unzip his jeans and pull his throbbing cock out in one swift motion.

She really was the most talented woman that he'd ever known.

"Merry Christmas, Elena," he grunted as he entered her.


End file.
